I want to keep things light but he won’t leave me alone. And hell, if he’s not wearing me thin.

What is supposed to be a simple summer fling with a very hot man, has now morphed into a f*cked-up mess of feelings, attachment, and dare I say it…love. But I don’t do relationships. And Hollis Knightly does.

Excerpt :

“Have you ever read a romance novel, boobarella?”

Her smile turns into a scowl from my nickname, making me chuckle. “Don’t call me that.”

“Answer the question, have you?”

“Not really. Does reading the first chapter of The Notebook count?”

The Notebook, God, what a classic. I’m pretty sure almost everyone has read that book. I’m one of those guys who likes to read the book before the movie comes out so I can bitch about the book being way better later on. The book is always better . . . always.

But that Noah Calhoun, now there is a true romantic. He’s got his shit under control and knows how to woo a woman. If only the male race would all strive to be like him, we might have less violence and more orgasms.

“The Notebook counts. I love that book, but you need to read more than the first chapter.”

“You’ve read it?”

I nod and give her my best shy smile. “You would be hard-pressed to find a mainstream romance book I haven’t read. I’m also very much into the indie scene.”

“I had no idea men read romance novels.”

I wink at her. “The smart ones do.”

“Okay,” she shifts in her lounger, looking like she’s about to challenge me, “tell me why you like reading romance novels.”

“Easy.” I lean forward and say, “It’s a brief glimpse into the woman’s psyche. For the most part, romance novels are written by women, which is clutch for us men, because we are able to take these fantasies of being fucked up against a wall, or fingered under the table at dinner, or eaten out on the counter of the kitchen and turn them into a reality.”

She slowly gulps. If I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t have seen it, but it’s obvious with that little movement in her throat that my words have affected her.

“I’m a pleaser, Melony. I’m a woo-er. I’m a romantic who knows how to fuck you senseless.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Her eyes search mine. Because I have a long list of things I want to do to you, you fucking gorgeous woman. Kiss her senseless at the end of each day; lather her up in the shower and worship every part of her body; finger her beautiful pussy to the point she screams my name; wake her up in the morning with my mouth between her thighs, or my lips wrapped around her tits. Yeah. I’ve thought about what I want to do to her, but if I keep thinking all these things I won’t be able to walk away from my lounge chair.

I stand up, gathering my items and then glance down at her. “Because, sooner or later, I will be fucking you up against a wall, fingering you under the dinner table, and eating that sweet pussy of yours on the kitchen counter. Mark my fucking words, Melony, I am going to woo you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.”

With a parting wink, I leave her with her mouth agape and a confused look on her face.

From his dirty-blond hair and breathtaking smile, to the abs from heaven and the irresistible V in his waistline, everything about Bodi Olympic-gold-medalist Banks screams hot piece of @$$.

Yet there’s more.

Dark shadows lurk behind his soulful, serious eyes.

I’m enamored. He’s captured me.

How can running an art foundation with Bodi Banks turns into a slow-burning, epic romance, even though he tries to push me away at every chance? How can I stay away from a broken, routine-driven man whose soul cries to be forgiven for a crime only he believes he committed? Or is that a lie?**STROKED LONG can be read as a stand alone.

About the Author:

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if "It's Raining Men" starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing... enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!